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A TERRIBLE TOMBOY
STORIES FOR GIRLS
_Illustrated in Colour._
THE STORY-BOOK GIRLS. By CHRISTINA G. WHYTE. 6/- and 3/6.
NINA'S CAREER. By CHRISTINA G. WHYTE. 6/-.
BRIDGET OF ALL WORK. By WINIFRED M. LETTS. 5/-.
MISTRESS NANCIEBEL. By ELSIE J. OXENHAM. 5/-.
A GIRL OF THE NORTHLAND. By BESSIE MARCHANT. 5/-.
THE GIRL CRUSOES. By MRS. HERBERT STRANG. 3/6 and 2/6.
THE GIRL SCOUT. By BRENDA GIRVIN. 3/6.
DAUNTLESS PATTY. By E. L. HAVERFIELD. 3/6 and 2/6.
THE CONQUEST OF CLAUDIA. By E. L. HAVERFIELD. 3/6.
HENRY FROWDE and HODDER & STOUGHTON
[Illustration: "SEE, I'LL PUT IT JUST ON THE TOP IN FRONT."
[See page 44.]
A
TERRIBLE TOMBOY
BY
ANGELA BRAZIL
AUTHOR OF "FAIRY PLAYS FOR CHILDREN"
NEW EDITION
_ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR BY N. TENISON_
LONDON
HENRY FROWDE
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
1915
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PEGGY AT HOME 1
II. BIRDS'-NESTING 12
III. THE BLACK PUPPY 25
IV. A STORMY DAY 35
V. CONCERNING LILIAN 51
VI. SUNDAY 62
VII. MAUD MIDDLETON'S PARTY 72
VIII. THE HOLIDAYS 85
IX. A MOUNTAIN WALK 97
X. ON THE MOORS 109
XI. A NEW FRIEND 121
XII. IN THE RECTORY GARDEN 132
XIII. THE SMUGGLERS' CAVE 140
XIV. LILIAN'S HOUSEKEEPING 157
XV. THE BEGINNING OF A SHADOW 170
XVI. ARCHIE 180
XVII. DAME ELEANOR'S GHOST 193
XVIII. PLAY-ACTING 207
XIX. PEGGY AT WAR 219
XX. GORSWEN FAIR 231
XXI. ROLLO'S GRAVE 245
XXII. DEEPENING TROUBLE 256
XXIII. THE ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY 268
XXIV. CONCLUSION 280
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_To face page_
"SEE, I'LL PUT IT JUST ON THE TOP IN FRONT" (_see page 44_)
_Frontispiece_
"MAKING A LONG ARM, SHE MANAGED TO SEIZE PUSS BY THE
SCRUFF OF HER NECK" 82
"BOBBY ACCOMPLISHED THE CROSSING IN SAFETY" 154
"HE FIRST SET TO WORK TO MAKE A SPIRAL STAIRCASE UP
THE TREE" 182
"IF YOU BREAK YOUR WORD, I'LL LET ALL WARFORD KNOW
THAT YOU'VE BEEN KNOCKED DOWN AND THRASHED BY
A GIRL" 226
"SEDGWICK, THIS IS AN EXTRAORDINARY DAY!" 276
A TERRIBLE TOMBOY
CHAPTER I
PEGGY AT HOME
'Good sooth! I know not be she wench or swain;
Her face proclaims her one, her deeds the other!'
'Peggy! Peggy! where are you? Peggy! Aunt Helen wants you! Oh, Peggy, do
be quick! Wherever are you hiding?'
Getting no response to her calls, the speaker, a pretty fair-haired girl
of fifteen, flung her brown holland cooking-apron over her head, and ran
out across the farmyard into the lightly-falling rain. She peeped into
the cart-shed, where the hens were scratching about among the loose
straw. Certainly Peggy was not there. She searched in the kitchen
garden, but there was nothing to be seen except the daffodils nodding
their innocent heads under the gooseberry-bushes. Round through the
orchard she sped, bringing down a shower of cherry-blossom as she
brushed against the low-growing trees, and greatly disturbing a robin,
who was feeding a young family in a hole in the ivy, but without any
sign of the truant. Here and there Lilian ran, hunting in all Peggy's
favourite haunts--now peeping into a hollow yew-tree, now peering at the
top of a ladder, now rummaging in the tool-shed, then back through the
sand-quarry into the stack-yard, where there was a very good chance that
the young lady might be hidden away in some snug little hole among the
hay; but though Lilian got a tolerable amount of hay-seed into her hair,
her efforts were fruitless, and she was just turning away, hot and out
of breath, to give up the useless search, when the sound of a low,
chuckling laugh attracted her to the barn.
The door was slightly ajar, and she peeped in.
On the floor among the straw sat a little boy of between eight and nine
years old, gazing with rapturous delight into the rafters of the roof.
Following the direction of his eyes, Lilian glanced up, and beheld a
sight which made her gasp with horror. The barn was a very large one,
and was spanned by a great cross-beam, which ran across the whole length
from one end to another. Mounted on this, fully fifteen feet above the
ground, a small girl was slowly walking along, her gray eyes bright with
excitement, her brown curls flying in wild disorder, and her arms
stretched out on either side to balance herself as she went on her
perilous journey.
Lilian gazed at her spellbound; she did not dare to speak or move, lest
by some mischance the frail little figure should lose its nerve and come
crashing down on to the stone floor below.
The child herself, however, did not seem to be troubled with the
slightest fear, for she walked on as steadily as if the beam had been a
plain turnpike road, giving a shout of triumph as she reached the
cross-bar, and slid down the ladder on to the ground.
'Hurrah! hurrah!' cried Bobby, clapping his hands in an ecstasy of
admiration.
Peggy turned round with a radiant face.
'It's perfectly easy!' she exclaimed; 'I could do it over again. Now,
Bobby, you come up and try!'
But here Lilian's pent-up excitement and wrath burst forth.
'For shame, Peggy!' she cried. 'If you want to break your own neck, you
shan't break Bobby's, at any rate! Don't you know what a horribly
dangerous thing you have been doing? And the idea of your walking along
there with your boot-lace dangling down in that way! You are really
getting too old for these silly tricks; one can't look after you like a
baby. Aunt Helen _would_ be angry if she heard of this!'
Peggy sat down on the bottom rung of the ladder. The triumph had faded
from her face, and left something not nearly so pleasant to look at
behind.
'All right,' she said defiantly; 'go along and tell Aunt Helen if you
like! I don't care!'
'Peggy, how horrid you are! Do I ever tell? Didn't I wash and iron your
pinafore yesterday, when you fell into the pig-trough, and nobody even
suspected? I call you right-down mean to go saying things like that!'
And Lilian's pretty face flushed quite pink with righteous indignation.
Peggy had the grace to look rather ashamed of herself.
'No, Lil, you're a dear; you don't tell tales,' she said; 'and I haven't
forgotten about the pinafore.'
'Promise me, then, that you won't go playing such mad pranks again, and
leading Bobby into them, too?'
'All right--anything for a quiet life.'
'But promise, properly.'
'There! On my honour, I will never walk along that beam again, or let
Bobby do it either. Will that suit you?'
Lilian heaved a sigh of relief, for whatever might be Peggy's sins and
misdeeds, her word, once given, was not lightly broken.
'I've been looking for you everywhere,' she said. 'Aunt Helen sent me to
fetch you in at once, and I've been such a long time in finding you. I'm
afraid she'll be ever so cross.'
'What does she want me for?'
'To darn your stockings. Oh, Peggy, how could you go and hide all those
pairs away under the dressing-table? It was really silly, for you might
have known Aunt Helen would be sure to hunt them out; and now she's
fearfully angry about it, and says you'll have to sit and mend away till
they're all finished; and she won't let me help you, either.'
Peggy sighed philosophically.
'I suppose I shall have to come,' she said, getting up and shaking the
straw out of her hair. 'Never mind; I'd really rather mend them all in
one big heap than in a lot of little horrid pottering times; it spoils
one's Saturdays so!'
'Aunt Helen said if I found Bobby he was to come in too, and learn his
Latin,' continued Lilian, looking round. But that youth had prudently
disappeared at the first hint of Saturday duties, and was nowhere to be
seen.
Peggy chuckled.
'I'm afraid you won't find him,' she remarked; 'and it's no use looking.
He's got the most lovely hiding-place in the world that he goes to when
he doesn't want to be told to come in. I only found it out by accident
myself, and I promised wild horses shouldn't wrench the secret from me.
Come along; we may as well go and get the scolding over.'
And the young lady tossed back her tangled locks, shook her fist at the
anticipated pile of darning; then, putting on an air of chastened and
becoming meekness, as being most likely to soothe Aunt Helen's wrath,
she marched sturdily into the house.
It was a beautiful old home into which Peggy entered, half castle, half
farmhouse, with an air of having seen better days about it. The quaint
timbered house, with its carved gables and red-tiled roof, was built in
at one end into a kind of square tower or keep, with tiny turret windows
and winding staircase, getting just a little ruinous in places, but held
firmly together by masses of ivy, which clung round it like a green
mantle. Beyond the tower lay the remains of an abbey, more ancient than
the keep. Most of it had been carried away to build the large barns and
stables, but the foundations could still be plainly traced, with here
and there part of a wall thickly covered with ivy, the ruins of a
shattered column, a delicate little piece of window tracery, or a few
steps of corkscrew staircase. There were rows and heaps of mossy stones
covered with nettles and elder-bushes, with patches of green grass in
between, where the cows grazed and the pigeons flew about, cooing
gently. In the ivy the jackdaws were always busy, and the children had
many a perilous climb trying to reach the coveted nests. The earliest
primroses grew here, and beds of sweet violets under the ruined walls,
and there were so many turns and corners and sheltered nooks that it
made the grandest play-place in the world for anyone who loved a game at
hide-and-seek.
On the other side of the house stretched the garden--such a sweet,
old-fashioned garden, where roses, lilies, and gillyflowers were all
mixed up with the currants and gooseberries and cabbages. It was
somewhat neglected, it is true, but perhaps it looked none the less
picturesque for that, and certainly no one would be disposed to quarrel
with the beautiful ripe strawberries and the sweet little yellow
gooseberries with the hairy skins, or the big red plums that hung upon
the old brick walls.
Inside the house was large and roomy, with rambling passages and odd
little windows in unexpected corners. There was a large oak staircase,
with wide, shallow steps, leading to a panelled gallery, where hung
swords, and rusty armour, and moth-eaten tapestry, and many an ancient
relic of the past; while in the best bedroom was a great carved
four-post bed, hung with faded yellow curtains, where Queen Elizabeth
herself was said to have slept in much state for two nights on her
journey from Shrewsbury to Wrexham.
The big drawing-room had been shut up for many years; the Queen-Anne
chairs and china-cabinets were swathed in wrappers, and the ornaments
put away in boxes; but sometimes the children would steal in and open
the shutters to look at the portraits which hung upon the oak-panelled
walls--stately gentlemen with wigs and lace frills, whose eyes seemed to
follow you about the room; haughty dames with powdered hair and patches;
stiff little girls in hoops and mittens, and pretty young ladies attired
as shepherdesses or classic goddesses, with cupids and nymphs in the
background.
The little blue drawing-room, which was always used instead, was a far
more cheery apartment, with its sunny French window and fresh muslin
curtains, and the blue chintz covers on the chairs. But of all the rooms
I think the quaintest was the kitchen. It was by far the oldest part of
the house; the great beams of the roof, roughly hewn out with an axe and
black with age, had been a portion of the ancient castle, and so had the
mullioned windows, with their deep, old-fashioned seats and diamond
panes, filled with green, uneven glass. It looked a cheerful place, with
its polished-oak dressers and shining brasses, and on a winter's
evening, when the shutters were closed and the settle drawn close to the
fire, it seemed the cosiest spot in the world; and Peggy and Bobby would
often escape from the sober atmosphere of the dining-room to pull their
little stools into the ingle nook, and listen to Nancy's wonderful tales
of ghosts and goblins, which seemed twice as thrilling when the wind was
howling like a banshee in the chimney, and rattling the doors till they
could fancy that spirit fingers were tapping on the panels, and only
waiting a chance to catch them in the dark passages, and sent such cold
shivers running down their backs that they grew almost too frightened to
go to bed.
Below the house the meadow sloped down to a river, where a stone bridge
led to the village, with its pretty thatched cottages and Norman church,
whose square tower stood up like a beacon for the surrounding country;
and away in the distance, tier upon tier, rose the Welsh mountains,
fading from green to purple or from purple to misty mauve, till the last
were lost in the hazy blue of the sky.
Gorswen Abbey, as Peggy's home was called, had been an important place
in its time, and an air of sleepy grandeur seemed still to hang about
the old walls, as if sometime it might rouse itself from its lethargy
and take its part in the world again.
No one could remember when Vaughans had not lived at the Abbey. There
were tombs in memory of them in a side transept of the church--stalwart
Crusaders, lying with legs crossed and meek hands folded in prayer;
stout Elizabethan squires and their dames, with ruffs round their necks,
and rows of prim little kneeling children beneath them; full-faced
Jacobean worthies in curled wigs, with sculptured cherubs weeping over
extinguished torches; and there was a high old pew with a carved canopy
over it, and an escutcheon bearing a coat of arms with a dragon on it,
which, when Peggy was very little, she had always associated with the
dragon in the Book of Revelation, and had an uneasy feeling that its eye
was upon her all service time, and if she did not behave properly it
might come down in great wrath and devour her.
There had been Vaughans who fought in the Wars of the Roses, Vaughans
who threw in their lot with King Charles and helped to beat Cromwell at
Atherton Moor, Vaughans who had joined the Young Pretender's force, and
had lost their heads as their reward. There was no end to the stories
which the children could sometimes cajole out of old David, the
farm-help, who had all the family history at his finger-ends.
But they had been a happy-go-lucky, spendthrift race, loving to ride to
hounds and to entertain liberally better than to look after their
affairs. Little by little the fine property had been wasted away, till,
when Peggy's father succeeded to the estate, he found it to consist of
scarcely more than the old house with the surrounding farm and
woodlands, together with such a multitude of debts, mortgages, and other
encumbrances, that it was truly a barren heritage. Robert Vaughan,
however, was a man of strong will and much determination. Some of the
grit of the old Crusaders was left in his blood, and instead of taking
his solicitor's advice, and selling the place for what it would fetch,
he resolved to farm the land himself, and by using every care and
economy to free the property, and raise it to its former level in the
county. He worked in his own fields, ploughing, harvesting, and reaping,
toiling harder than any of his labourers, and living in as plain a
manner as possible.
To those friends who thought he lost caste thereby he had always the
same argument--that he saw no reason why the cultivation of fields
should counteract the habits of refinement and good breeding to which he
had been reared; that in the colonies educated gentlemen set to work to
labour with their hands, and are thought none the worse of: so why not
in England, where land is good and markets are plentiful, especially
when it involved the keeping of a fine old property which had been in
the family for so many hundreds of years?
Fortune, however, had been against him. Several bad seasons and a spell
of disease among the cattle had made all the difference between profit
and loss, and at the time this story begins Robert Vaughan realized that
any unusual run of ill luck might bring matters to a crisis, and render
vain the struggle of so many years. The children, however, knew little
of the shadow which haunted their home, for they lived as yet in that
happy thoughtless paradise which is the inheritance of true childhood,
where a new rabbit in the hutch or an extra treat on a holiday is of far
more importance than any grown-up affair.
Their mother had faded so early from their young lives that she was
scarcely more than a tender memory, and her place had been taken by
dear, pretty Aunt Helen, father's younger sister, who did her best to
train them up in the way they should go. Aunt Helen fondly imagined
herself to be a great disciplinarian, but her own lively youth was still
such a recent remembrance that her eyes were wont to twinkle and the
corners of her mouth to twitch in the middle of her severest scoldings,
and the children always had a feeling that so long as they did not do
anything rude or wrong, or run into any very imminent danger, their
escapades were secretly condoned by their aunt, who admired pluck and
spirit, however much she might feel it incumbent upon her to lecture
them.
Gentle Lilian gave little trouble, and Bobby, Aunt Helen often declared,
would be easy enough to manage alone; but where Peggy led he was always
sure to follow, and the end was generally mischief of some sort or
other.
The worst of it was poor Peggy really did not mean to be naughty; she
was so eager, so active, so full of overflowing and impetuous life, with
such restless daring and abounding energy, that in the excitement of the
moment her wild spirits were apt to carry her away, simply because she
never stopped to think of consequences. She had always a hundred
projects on hand, each one of which she was ready to pursue with
unflagging zeal and that absorbing interest which is the secret of true
enjoyment.
'Let her alone,' the Rector, who rejoiced in Peggy, was wont to say.
'Don't prune her too hard, for it is sometimes the side-shoots that bear
the best flowers, after all. She is like a young growing plant--a little
too much leaf at present, but I see a grand promise of blossom, and
she'll turn out a fine woman in the end.'
Happily both her father and Aunt Helen shared his views, and, knowing
Peggy's generous, affectionate nature, were able to lead her more by
love than severity (for with human hearts it is often like the fable of
the sun and the wind: they will respond to a kindly touch, while
harshness will only make them sullen and obstinate), and they further
held the opinion that it is better for a child to have many interests
and much energy, even though these qualities prove a little
troublesome, than to grow up clipped to the prim pattern of those who
may have outlived their enthusiasms.
Such natures as Peggy's taste life to the full; for them it is never a
stale or worthless draught. Each moment is so keenly lived that time
flies by on eager wings, and though there may be stormy troubles
sometimes, as a rule the spirit dwells, like the swallows, in an upper
region of joy, which is scarcely dreamt of by those who cannot soar so
high.